Ember
by emjay79
Summary: There is a child at Hogwarts that few people know about, and her mother and other guardians strive to keep it that way, especially from an evil man who might be the child's father. Secrets are hard to keep, however, from Tom Riddle. MMAD, set in 1951
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Ican't seem to write a MMAD story without throwing Tom Riddle into the triangle, I apologize if that gets rather boring. I shamelessly stole the lyrics in the beginning from Othello (yay, Maggie Smith as Desdemona!). This is dedicated to my friend Webbgirl, who came up with the idea for this story:D

**Ember **

**Chapter 1: Prologue (July 1951)**

"_The poor soul sat sighing_

_By a sycamore tree_

_Sing all a green willow_

_Her hand on her bosom_

_Her head on her knee_

_The fresh streams ran by her_

_And murmured her moans_

_Sing all a green willow_

_Her salt tears fell from her_

_And softened the stones…"_

The little voice was captivating, sweetly warbling the words: mournful, yet childishly innocent of their meaning. An old song, an ancient tune few would know, and yet he recognized it instantly, had had to stop himself from joining the child—from singing along. Many would find it odd that a girl this young would know such a ballad, but not him. For she—the child's mother, had sang it often, hummed it quietly to herself as she worked.

He watched her twisting in circles upon her swing, first this way, then that, her little legs stretched rigidly out in front of her, toes pointed inward to increase her speed. He watched her in fascination—she unaware of his presence in the shadow of the forest. How had he not known about her? How in heaven's name? She had to be about five years old, from the looks of her. Right here, all this time—right under his nose.

He might have missed her today if he hadn't decided to walk off his anger along the path to Hogsmeade gate instead of heading back to Knock Turn Alley by way of the floo network. Might have missed her still, had he not heard her singing—hidden as she was behind the hut that the half-giant Hagrid called home. Curiously he had sought out the songstress, and the sight of her took his breath away. There was no doubt to whom she belonged. Her long black hair tied neatly back with a ribbon, the sharp, fine features of her face chiseled from the same porcelain as another he remembered only too well. She wore a simple yet well-made dress; black with a white collar, dark stockings, shiny black shoes. It was as if he were looking into a picture; a window to the past. A smaller, younger version of another woman he had known when she was just a few years older. This was her daughter, of that he had no doubt. He had known just by looking at her, but the song—that song had solidified it. Proof positive.

He shook his head softly, smiling to himself at his good fortune. He hadn't known she'd had a daughter—he hadn't known about this child. He wasn't meant to know, he was certain of _that_. The girl was too like her mother to give away who a possible father might be. But the age was right. Could it be?

She ceased turning in circles and slowly spun to a stop, leaning forward on the wooden board that served as a seat to pat a large black dog upon its head. She was speaking affectionate, unintelligible words to the animal when suddenly she paused looking right at him through the hole in the foliage where he stood watching her. He stepped from the shadows, flashing her a friendly smile. He ambled closer; and the dog raised its head curiously, but made no move to rise.

"Hello," he said. She did not answer, but rather watched him guardedly. "I was walking to the gate and heard your singing. What a lovely tune."

"Thank you." She answered politely.

"What's your dog's name?"

"Bear. He isn't mine, he belongs to Hagrid," she explained. "He is supposed to be an attack dog, but he's afraid of everything, even bunny rabbits."

Her voice had dropped to a whisper so as not to hurt the dog's feelings lest he overhear, he presumed. He lowered his tone to match. "Sometimes bunny rabbits can be frightfully scary things." He winked at her, and she smiled.

"No they aren't, Bear's just a fraidy-cat." She scratched the big black beast behind his ears. "Are you here to see Hagrid?" she asked. "He's inside taking his nap." She cast a worried glance towards the hut, and said, "I'm supposed to be taking a nap too."

"No, I'm not here to see Hagrid. I was just passing along, when I happened upon your lovely singing. I'm not much for naps, either," he added conspiratorially.

The child looked relieved. "Mummy says I'm to take one every afternoon, but I'm never tired. Hagrid reads me a story and then he always falls asleep, so Bear and I come out and play so we don't wake him."

"That's very thoughtful of you. Do you live here with Hagrid?" he asked, phrasing the words as though they were merely an afterthought.

"No, I stay here with Hagrid while Mummy is at work. He needs me to look after him," she said very seriously.

This caused him to chuckle. "Does he?"

Her voice lowered once again to a whisper, "He thinks he is looking after me, but I don't say anything because it makes him happy to think so."

"And how is it that he needs looking after?" he asked, wanting to hear her answer, he was finding this little girl very amusing.

"I tidy up after him, and make him proper cups of tea. I even learned a spell that darns the holes in his socks." She stopped and peered down at his feet. "Do you have any holes in your socks?"

"No, my socks are hole-free, although I would like to see that spell of yours sometime."

She beamed at him proudly. "I can do lots of spells." Then suddenly she frowned, backing away with her swing a few feet. "I'm sorry," she said, "Mummy says I am not to speak with strangers."

"Your Mummy is quite right. You should never speak to strangers." Her expression relaxed somewhat, and he continued, "I suppose we could be friends; then it would be okay to speak with one another."

She thought about this for a moment, and smiled. "Yes, that would be all right."

"I think that it would be best however, if you didn't tell your mum about me. It could be our secret."

Instantly the guarded look overtook her features, and he feared he had made a mistake. "I am not to have any secrets from Mummy or Uncle Albus. It's a rule," she added very seriously.

Oh yes, he thought, this was _definitely_ Minerva's child. "You are quite right about that, also. But if they don't ask you, then you don't have to tell—then it isn't really a secret." Her little brow was furrowed in thought and she did not look at all convinced. "You see, if you told her, then she'd want to know how we met, and you would have to tell her that you aren't taking your naps like you're supposed to."

Her eyes widened at that realization. "I suppose it isn't a secret if no one asks you," she said slowly. "She'd be awfully mad at Hagrid if she found out he didn't make me take my naps, and he cries so dreadfully when people are mad with him. She might not let me stay with him anymore, and then who would see to his tea?" That seemed to settle the matter for her, and she smiled at him, offering her little hand. He took it in his big one and gave it a gentle shake.

"My name is Ember."

"Glad to meet you, Ember. My name is Tom."


	2. Chapter 2

**Ember chapter 2**

Minerva and Ember left Hagrid waving in the doorframe of the hut as they walked hand in hand down the path towards Hogsmeade. Ember chattered excitedly, telling Minerva about all she and Hagrid had done that day while Minerva listened contentedly. She loved this time they shared every afternoon, her daughter having begun to miss both her and home and was always so happy to see her upon her arrival. Minerva cherished the normalcy of these moments because precious little in her life had been normal.

It was a beautiful July afternoon, the sun high overhead in a clear azure sky that shone gloriously after a morning of clouds and showers. The warm light was quickly evaporating the moisture glistening on the foliage and casting little sparkles of light around them. The usually strict Minerva was happy to indulge her daughter who stopped every few steps to admire a flower or pick up a small stone and toss it into a puddle, squealing with delight at the splash. At one such stopping point, she took a moment to loose a few buttons on the collar of her robe, letting the air circulate and tickle the back of her neck under the hair knotted into a thick bun at its nape. It was a fine day, she decided. Queer, she mused, how a summer day could fill one with such peace.

Her life was complete, and she was happy. She had a family again, though admittedly, the arrangements were a bit unusual, but still: she had a wonderful husband and a beautiful child. She was making great strides with her experiments in her study of anamagi-transfiguration as an Unspeakable at the Ministry, a position she had held for the past five and a half years. She had transferred to Unspeakable from the Auror department when she had discovered that she was carrying Ember and felt that dueling dangerous dark wizards was a mite too taxing for an expecting mother. The switch had been a good one, as study and academia had always appealed to her and she had grown so tired of the constant violence of the then ongoing war. And it was sunny today. Life was good.

She could almost forget the constant threat that hung over her on a day like today. As she could never entirely dismiss it, she shoved the worry back into the furthest corner of her mind, and allowed the warmth of the sun to pleasure her skin. She was in no hurry this day; she wanted to revel in the tranquility she so seldom felt. "Let's drop in and say hello to your Uncle Aberforth before we head home," she said, bringing an instant smile to Ember's face. The little girl skipped ahead happily through the gate that closed off the grounds of Hogwarts from the rest of the world.

The Hog's Head was empty, as was usual that time of day. As they shut the door behind them a gruff voice called out from behind the bar, "Be with you in a minute—" but his hard face softened as he spied Ember bounding towards him for a hug, Minerva following behind.

"Well now, it's my girls!" he exclaimed, setting down the grubby towel and glass he'd been drying, and sweeping Ember up for a tight embrace before depositing her on the bar. "Wait right there, darlin', and Uncle Ab will fix you right up!" Minerva took a seat next to her daughter on one of the high chairs positioned next to the end of the bar.

"For you, my pumpkin, some pumpkin juice," he said, handing the child her drink. She took it, and mumbled 'thank-you' between gulps, after Minerva had cleared her throat and cast her a stern look.

"And for you, Minnie," he said, grinning as he pressed a glass of gilly water into Minerva's hands.

"Minerva" she corrected, but gently and without true admonishment. Aberforth ignored her, as he once again bent down, disappearing behind the bar. He popped back up with a small misshapen bundle of brown paper tied with rough cord. He presented this to his niece, who squealed in delight.

"Presents!" she giggled and went straight to tearing the paper away from her hidden surprise.

"Aberforth, you spoil her." Minerva said, watching her child gleefully ripping the package.

"And what if I do? A man has a right to spoil his favorite niece if he wants. Not fair for my brother to have wealth and fame and a pretty young wife," he winked at Minerva, "he can't have _everything_, so I'm the favorite uncle!"

Ember clapped her hands in delight as the last of the paper fell unnoticed to the floor, revealing two carved wooden dolls in her lap. They were remarkably life-like, with real hair sprouting from their heads, the eyes and lips painted perfectly. Each wore a tunic of sorts made of burlap, and Minerva suspected that one of Aberforth's beloved goats had recently received a trimming of their beards to provide such realistic coiffures.

She grabbed her uncle around the neck and kissed him soundly on the cheek. She immediately forgot her pumpkin juice and began playing with her toys. "Mummy, can I change their clothes?"

Minerva nodded, and handed Ember her wand. She and Albus had been teaching her simple spells to use as she played, as she showed unusual intelligence for a child her age. Her daughter loved sewing, and Minerva had taught her to darn socks to help with the mending. Albus did have so many socks…

Ember held the wand confidently in her little hand, hesitating only a moment before uttering the spell and pointing at each doll in turn. The male doll sprouted long black robes and the girl an emerald green dress. She looked to her mother for approval.

"Well done, lass," Minerva said solemnly, and Ember beamed at her praise.

"Here now," Aberforth chimed in, "that's an impressive bit of magic for a six-year old."

"I'm only five!" Ember corrected, her little chest sticking out with pride.

"Are you, really?" Aberforth asked, his voice a little over-astonished. "I thought you were older the way you handled that spell!"

"I've been practicing," the little girl said quite seriously.

"No doubt about that," he said, refilling Minerva's drink, and the adults exchanged a smile of pride at their little wonder.

"What are you going to name them, Emmy?" he asked her.

Ember stole a mischievous look at her mother. "Her name is Minnie," she said sweetly. Minerva frowned, shooting her a warning look. "It's okay," she said, "it isn't your name, after all, your name is _Minerva_." She gave her mother and impish smile, causing both her and Aberforth to laugh.

"I'm going to call _him_, Tom."

Minerva choked on her drink, nearly dropping her glass. Aberforth clapped her on the back a few times, until she ceased her sputtering. This went unnoticed by Ember who was being distracted by Celia, Aberforth's newest goat, who had wondered in and was chewing on the little girls hem, her front hooves stretched up on either side of Ember on the bar.

Minerva forced the alarm from her voice and asked casually, "And why did you decide to call him Tom, love?" Aberforth caught her eye, concern clouding his blue orbs.

"I like that name, Mummy," was all that the child replied.

"Oh." Minerva felt that she was overreacting to be sure, but all the same it had startled her, hearing Ember speak his name out of the blue. _Tom_ was a perfectly common name, she told herself. She could have heard it anywhere. Aberforth placed a hand on hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.

She was silent after that, remembering back to less pleasant times. It seemed to Minerva that the light in the pub had waxed dimmer, the sun outside now hidden behind a cloud that wasn't there before. Ember was chatting both with Celia and Aberforth and she watched them, aloof. She observed her brother-in-law, so like Albus and yet so _unlike_ him. Both were tall, thin, and auburn haired. Both were more than a tad eccentric. But where Albus was jolly and kind, Aberforth was gruff and ill tempered. And though he was the younger of the two, his hair was streaked with far more silver than Albus's. Life had been hard on them both, she knew. But Albus, although hardly unaffected, looked ever toward the happiness of life. It was what had always drawn her to him, she who was so quick to be without hope, drew strength from he who was ever hopeful. Aberforth was embittered, never having forgiven Albus for the death of their sister, Ariana, all those years ago. And she knew that Albus could never forgive himself while he went without the forgiveness of his brother.

She desperately wished to mend this rift between them, between two men that she loved. But she knew that was impossible, only they could bridge that gap, and perhaps some rifts were too great to be mended. Despite the strained relationship between the two remaining Dumbledores, Aberforth had always welcomed Minerva with open arms. He loved her, and there was such deep affection for Ember that he became an entirely different man in the little girl's presence. He was one of the few to know of her marriage to Albus, and one of fewer still who knew of the strange circumstances surrounding Ember's existence. And yet he still welcomed her. She felt a surge of gratitude course through her and noticed that all the while he was bantering with Ember, his hand was still comfortingly placed next to hers.

She roused from her thoughts as she heard voices approaching in the street. She turned to Ember, placing her empty glass on the bar. "Come, love, Uncle Aberforth has work to do, and we best be getting home." Aberforth lifted Ember and deposited her gently onto her feet.

"Thanks for the drink, Aberforth," she said, giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

He followed them into the small kitchen and washroom behind the main room of the pub, calling out to the customers he could hear coming through the heavy wooden door from the street. "You lads take your seats, I'll be right there!" he yelled over his shoulder.

Ember hugged Aberforth tightly, leaving a bright orange print on his forehead where she kissed him with pumpkin juice stained lips. "Thank you for the dolls, Uncle Aberforth, I love them!"

"Your welcome, darlin'," he said giving her a pat on the head. "Don't be a stranger now, Celia'll miss you if you stay away!"

Minerva took her daughter in one hand and a pinch of floo powder in the other as they stepped into the hearth. She smiled as she heard Aberforth holler, "I said I'd be with you! Merlin's beard, don't get your newt eggs all in a squash!" as the chimneys and fires flew past them before they stepped out into their own sitting room.

They were soon joined by Albus, and the three shared a quiet supper and afterwards a long walk as twilight began to descend upon them. Minerva did her best to enjoy what should have been a lovely evening, as she watched Ember chasing fireflies that Albus produced for her from his wand. This was the best of evenings, she scolded herself, she should not let worry intrude and tarnish it. But bolster herself as she might try, the worry remained, like a heavy stone in the pit of her stomach, or cobwebs just out of reach but visible from the corner of her eye.

Why had her daughter named that doll 'Tom'? Was she overreacting? She must be, it had to be coincidence, '_Tom' _was a_ common name. A bloody common name_. And why the hell should simply hearing it spoken hold such power over her? She hadn't heard from him in over five years. Nothing. Not one, single word. Why couldn't she vanquish him from her mind? What place did he have now, here at her home with her family? None. He had no place. She would not give him one. But she could not force him from her thoughts. He lingered there in shadow until she thought she'd scream from frustration.

Suddenly she did find herself crying out, startled at a touch on her arm. She blinked and realized she was just standing there, unmoving, and that Albus had placed a gentle hand at her elbow. That was all. She was fine, and Ember was safe. _He wasn't there_.

"Minerva, is everything all right?" Albus questioned, concern in his eyes.

"Yes, yes. Quite." She took slow, deep breaths, noticing that Ember had stopped playing and was staring up at her curiously. "Yes, I just….just let my mind wander. Shall we continue?" she said casually, taking a step forward.

Albus followed beside her, a quizzical look on his face. She placed her hand over his, still gently grasping her arm, and gave it a tight squeeze.

Later that night, when Ember had been bathed and put to bed they sat by a heatless fire, Minerva taking comfort in the warm light it cast over the room though it was far too balmy for an actual flame.

"Albus, why do you think Ember named that doll, Tom?" she finally asked him quietly.

"What did she say when you asked her?"

"She just said that she like the name." Minerva answered, feeling a bit sheepish now that she was voicing the fear out loud.

"That's probably all it is then, love. Just a coincidence." He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb reassuringly.

"I know, just a coincidence. That's what I keep telling myself. But where would she have heard it? We don't have any friends named Tom that Ember has been around. I never speak it. I _never speak that name_—"her pitch rising to a panic, she cut herself off. She was not a woman given to hysterics, she told herself firmly. Especially over something that surely was no real problem. But Tom Riddle did give her cause for panic, as much as she was loathe to admit it.

"She could have heard it anywhere." Albus thought for a moment, searching for some insight that might calm his wife's fears. "Ah, I bet I know. I read to her "Tom Thumb" the other evening before bed. That's got to be it."

Minerva felt relief wash over her. Relief that felt too good for her to chide herself further over her wild overreactions. She leaned into him, curling her legs beneath her and closed her eyes, grateful for the newfound calm that was easing the tension in her neck and the catch in her heart.

They sat this way for a time in companionable silence, before Albus pulled away slightly, and sighed heavily. "This is not a time I would wish to share this news with you, love, but I feel you should know, and would not want to wait to hear it."

She sat up in alarm, and he met her gaze with as much calm as he could send into her worried green eyes. "What is it?" she asked him.

"Well, you are not the only one with thoughts of Tom Riddle, I'm afraid."

Minerva felt her pulse quicken, and her mind began to race, but she forced it to slow, forced herself to remain in control so that she could listen to what Albus had to say. "Why? What have you heard?" she said, trying her best not to sound apprehensive.

He hesitated a moment. "I saw him today."

Minerva's hand flew to her heart in a nervous gesture, and she could feel it pounding in her chest under the fabric of her dress.

Albus continued. "He came to interview for a staff position, he seeks the Defense Against the Dark Arts professorship. Naturally, I turned him down. He was polite, but under the surface quite angry. I could feel the hatred burning inside him."

Minerva's hand shook, and she focused all of her energy on stilling it.

"Albus—he was at Hogwarts! He was so close to her! He was right there, right within reach." The thought sickened her, and she began to cry. Albus pulled her to him, holding her against his chest as she attempted to regain control.

"I know, love. But she was safe at Hagrid's, no harm came to her, everything is fine. He has no reason to return. I was quite clear that it would be useless for him to reapply while I am Headmaster. I spoke with Hagrid about him; I asked if he had seen him pass by and he assured me that he had not. He and Ember were inside most of the day because of the rain. She is safe, Minerva."

"You are right. Of course, she is safe. That's all that matters. I can't believe I am acting like such a fool over all of this." She wiped her eyes with the handkerchief he offered her.

"You are not acting like a fool, Minerva. It is unsettling, two such instances concerning him today, however unconnected they may be. Aberforth has informed me about the meetings Riddle presides over at the Hog's Head, and he has sinister intentions and cruel, malicious goals. And he is amassing followers, they are few now, but will grow in number, I fear."

"Merlin, Albus. It's going to be Grindelwald all over again, isn't it?" her heart filled with dread at another dark wizard, another war.

"I hope not," he said softly, placing his chin to rest atop her dark mass of hair. I certainly hope not."




End file.
